Wes grins. “Or how about she buys one of those bananas from the fruit stand and eats it in front of Reggie in the sexiest way possible?” He tilts his head to the side, trying not to laugh.
My cheeks redden as I look in his direction through my lashes. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Not a chance.” He throws his arm around me and kisses my head.
We stroll from the shopping area to the beach. Hand in hand, we walk to the pier, where he climbs down to the sand before guiding us back underneath it.
Out of the sight of anyone who walks by, he takes me to a tucked-away corner that’s so peaceful compared to the hustle and bustle of people walking on the pier just above us.
We take our shoes off and walk in the shadows. It’s cooler down here, away from the sun. The breeze is strong, and the air is fresh. It’s low tide, so there’s plenty of beach to walk on before we hit the water.
When we get to the water, we let it hit our toes, and then we watch as our feet sink when the wave rushes back into the ocean.
Tiny air bubbles appear in the sand near our feet, which I point at. “What are these holes I see everywhere?”
He bends down, scoops up a handful of sand, and holds it up for me to see. “There are small crabs in here. Look.” He moves the sand around with his thumb, seeing if he caught a creature.
When he doesn’t find one, he reaches up with his other hand and pulls down my shirt like he’s going to dump the load of sand down my cleavage.
I yelp and run off, only for him to chase me down. When he catches me, it’s by wrapping both of his large arms around my petite frame. I scream, and he holds up his hands to show me he’s sand-free.
“I wouldn’t do something like that,” he says playfully.
“Bullshit you wouldn’t. You’ve done much worse to me in the past.”
“Oh yeah?” He turns me, so we’re face-to-face, but he keeps his arms around my lower back.
I wrap mine around his neck. “Yeah.”
His bright smile melts my heart. Out of all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen the expression he’s wearing right now. Knowing I had something to do with it being there is the best feeling.
“Will you ever forgive me for everything I did to you when we were younger?”
I pinch my lips to the side, like I’m considering his question. “I think another ten thousand orgasms, and we’ll be even.” I scrunch my nose, and he lets out a deep belly laugh.
“That’s all it will take? Shit. Sign. Me. Up.”
His lips meet with mine, and I’m instantly lost in the man whose lips swept me off my feet when I was twelve and still have the same effect today.
When he pulls back, it’s with a cheesy grin. As we walk back to the car, we stop to watch a street performer creating a chalk piece in the middle of the boardwalk. Wes reaches in his back pocket and gives him a twenty-dollar bill, and even I have to agree with the donation because his art is amazing.
We head back toward my house, driving past the high school we went to. I’m surprised when he pulls into the parking lot toward the baseball field. We get out, and Wes just stands there, hands on his hips, looking up at the scoreboard like he’s revisiting an old friend. After a long pause, he walks to his trunk and opens it. When he closes it, he’s holding a baseball and a glove.
“Are you planning on playing catch?” I ask with a sarcastic tone.
He walks around the side of the car. “Yes. With you.”
I raise a brow as he tosses me the glove. “And what will you be using?”
“My hands. A real man can catch a ball with his bare hands.”
With a laugh, I follow him through the gate and onto the open field of the high school baseball field. I stand on first base while he goes to second.
“I can’t throw that far,” I call out.
“Just throw it.”
I do, and it lands halfway between us.
He looks up at me from under his hooded eyes as he walks forward, picks up the ball, and lobs it back. “You throw like a girl.”
I catch it and toss it back. “No, I throw like a person who has never played baseball in her life and doesn’t know the first thing about throwing.”
“No one taught you how to play?” He sends the ball back, and we embark on an easy game of catch.
“I don’t know if you realized, but my dad is not the most athletic man. He supported us in anything we wanted to do, but playing catch wasn’t a pastime. Putting on plays in the living room was more up his alley.”
“Explains why you put on such a show in my living room.”
“Our living room,” I correct him and move on from the conversation he’s trying to lead me into. “Mom was the carpool queen. When Chad fell in love with baseball and me with swimming, she devoted her time to schlepping us to practice, games, and meets.”
He catches my throw and stops, holding the ball up in the air. “Okay, now, do this.” He takes the ball and places it by his hip. “Make a circle with the ball in your hand. Thumb to sky, bring it straight over your shoulder, and throw.”
I catch it and do as he said. The ball flows a little easier. “Like that?”
“Better. Point your other shoulder in the direction you’re throwing in.”
I follow his instructions. If I’m doing a horrible job, he doesn’t correct me in a mean way. He has a methodical patience about him.
“What about you? Who taught you how to play?”
“Chad,” he states easily. “I joined the team because he did. It was fun enough. Plus, the practices were frequent, and there was always a game, so I had a place to be other than home.”
“I wish I had known how bad it was. I might have looked at you differently.”
The ball I throw lands in his hands, and he holds it for a second. “How did you see me in high school? I mean, do you think that if I hadn’t walked away from you the way I did on my graduation night, we would have been together?”
I’m surprised by his question. “I don’t know. You were a drunk jerk that night.”
“I was scared.” He throws the ball back and I catch it.
“Why do you say things like that?”
“Because I was.” He’s so cryptic. “You want to know a secret?”
I raise a brow, willing him to tell me.
“I jerked off to the thought of you. A few times.”
I take the ball in my hands and throw it at him, and it lands square in his stomach. He responds by charging me, tackling my midsection, and tossing me over his shoulder. He carries me to the dugout.
Wes sets me down on my feet and takes off his jacket to lay it down for me to sit on while he sits beside me.
I curl my arms under his and lean against his shoulder as we stare at the sky that’s changing from pink to red with the sunset. “This is peaceful,” I say.
His head falls to mine. “How did I do?”
“With what?”
“Our first real date. Without having to hide from anyone or be afraid of anyone seeing us,” he speaks into my hair, and I hug him tighter. “I know we’ve been messing around for a while, and I should have taken you out before. I’m sorry about that.”